Shutter
by sinemoras09
Summary: A relationship. (Arthur doesn't become the Joker. AU, Sophie/Arthur, established relationship. Fix-it fic. Warnings for suicidal ideation)


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"Oh my god - what happened?!"

Sophie's eyes were wide as Arthur staggered through her doorway, the grimacing laugh choking in his throat.

"I got jumped." More laughter. He winced and squeezed his eyes. "They...they beat me with my sign."

He looked like he was going to cry, the laughter erupting from him.

Sophie placed a hand on his back. "Let's get you inside," she said, and she closed the door.

xXx

.

The bathwater was the color of rust, the greasepaint and old blood darkening the water.

Somehow, Arthur had calmed himself; instead of laughing, he was hiccuping a half-choked sob, trying to steady his breathing. Sophie pursed her lips and squeezed warm water from a sponge onto his back. The water rolled, the bumps of his spine shadowing the bruises mottling his skin.

"You know, I wash my mother like this." Arthur hung his head. Sophie gently poured a cup of warm water over his hair, sweeping the dark hair back. She stroked his forehead with the pads of her fingers, watching his eyes close from the water.

"Creepy," Sophie said. Another pour of water. "You're like that guy from Psycho."

"Who? Norman Bates?"

"Yeah." She brushed the damp locks back, then began carefully wiping the cut on his temple, which was matted and covered with blood. She felt him nudge his head against her hand the way a cat would, arching against her touch. Sophie smiled. "Just don't stab me in the shower, all right?"

"I wouldn't want to stab you," Arthur said. His voice was soft. His eyes were still closed, his head rolling with the bathwater.

Her daughter was asleep, so they padded quietly to the bedroom, switching off the light and climbing into bed. She lifted the covers and he sank gratefully in them, sighing heavily. She wrapped her arms around him as he tucked his head into her shoulder, closing his eyes.

xXx

.

She had always been vaguely aware of him - the guy who lived with his mother two doors down. Whenever she'd smile or look in his direction, he'd avert his eyes, hunching his body as if trying to make himself smaller.

She was stepping out of her apartment, bending over to pick up a newspaper, when the door closed shut behind her.

"Fuck!" Sophie said, because it locked automatically and her daughter was still sleeping inside. She tried the doorknob, then pounded on the door.

"Gigi?" Sophie pounded. "Gigi, honey, it's Mommy. Honey, can you open the door?"

She pounded again. No answer.

She grunted in frustration, and was about to whirl around and kick the stupid thing, when she turned and saw Arthur quietly watching her.

"O-oh. Sorry." Sophie took a step back. "I didn't mean to be so loud-"

"Are you locked out?" Arthur asked. Sophie nodded.

"The stupid thing shut behind me," Sophie said. Arthur nodded.

"Do you wanna come in? We can call the super-"

"Thank you," Sophie said, and she followed Arthur to his apartment.

He was awkward. He didn't make eye contact. He fidgeted, bouncing his leg with nervous energy. He erupted into laughter at inappropriate times.

"How was work?" she would ask, making conversation in the elevator, and he would always give her the same grimacing look, a painfully embarrassed pause before he'd answer.

"It wasn't good."

xXx

.

A few days after the beating, his mother invited her for dinner.

She took her daughter and brushed her hair, letting her choose a special dolly she could take with her.

"Hi, Mrs. Fleck," Sophie said, and her daughter waved. Arthur smiled broadly and took their coats, pausing to press a shy kiss against Sophie's temple.

"Hi," he said, and Sophie rubbed his arm.

Dinner was microwavables, a hockey puck billed as Salisbury Steak and a few limp vegetables. "This is delicious, Mrs. Fleck," Sophie said.

His mother looked at Arthur. "Does she have to lie?"

Arthur started, "Mom, she's not lying-"

"Oh, Happy. I'm just glad you found someone willing to lie..."

Sophie stared at her TV dinner, awkwardly.

Arthur took his mother to bed, so Sophie sat with her daughter on the couch, waiting for him. Her daughter was coloring when Sophie noticed the crumpled paper bag sitting on the table.

"What's this?" Sophie said, and she picked up the bag. Her eyes widened.

"Sophie? My mom's asleep." Arthur came down the stairs. Sophie emptied the bag, staring at the gun and the bullets in her hand.

"Arthur what is this?" Sophie said. Arthur stopped.

"Randall gave it to me," Arthur said.

"Randall? The guy who always bullies you? The guy who makes fun of your condition?" Sophie looked at him doubtfully.

"He said it was for protection," Arthur said. He sat down next to her, examining the bag.

Sophie shook her head. "I don't like this," Sophie said. "Something like this is dangerous."

"It's safe. It's for protection. I know how to handle it."

Sophie started, "Arthur, I really don't think-"

"No, Sophie, see? Look, it's-"

BANG. The gun discharged. Arthur yelped and Sophie shrieked, her daughter jumping from the table and ducking for cover.

"Oh," Arthur said. He stared at the bullet hole in the wall. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Sophie said. She crossed her arms.

"You shouldn't have that stupid gun."

xXx

.

They were lying in bed when Arthur curled up behind her, resting on his arm.

"Hey," Arthur said, and he scooted closer. He giggled, giddily.

"At least I wasn't shooting blanks."

"Oh my god." Sophie snorted. She felt Arthur grin against her neck, hugging her tighter.

xXx

.

This is how they got together.

She was late coming home from work, and she needed someone to pick up her daughter. Arthur was the only one who picked up the phone.

"I'm so sorry!" Sophie said, because they were just neighbors then, albeit on friendly terms.

"Don't be, I love kids," Arthur said. She could almost hear him smiling on the phone.

She came back a few hours later, her eyes wide as her daughter squealed and clapped her hands, Arthur making funny faces and showing her magic tricks, handing her prop wands that turned into flowers.

xXx

.

"Mommy, can we see Mr. Arthur?"

"Again?" Sophie said.

It was becoming a regular occurrence. They'd meet in the elevator, exchange pleasantries and complain about their shitty building. "Honey, you're bothering him," Sophie said, when her daughter begged Arthur to show her the funny dance again.

"She's not bothering me," Arthur said, and for the first time Sophie noticed him smiling.

It surprised her: he had a really nice smile.

xXx

.

"S-Sophie."

"Yeah?"

A stuttered laugh. It wrenched out from him like a rusty knife jabbing through his throat.

"There's something I need to tell you."

They were sitting on a bench, watching her daughter playing on the swing sets. It was the one patch in Gotham that wasn't covered in graffiti or littered with trash. The playground was behind an elementary school, so volunteers regularly cleaned up, hauling trash into piles by the dumpster and painting over the graffiti on the walls.

"I have an illness." More laughter. He squeezed his eyes, agonized, wrapping his palms around his face, covering the sound.

"It-" more laughter. He hunched into himself as if trying to squeeze the sound back into his chest, like stuffing an overinflated air mattress into a closet behind a bed. "It's about..." a wheeze. "My condition."

"What is it?" Sophie said. She already knew about the laughter - he had shown her the card long before.

"I have a mental illness."

He shrieked, then cackled, eyes popping open and slapping his hands over his mouth, mortified. His shoulders shook as he tried stifling the laughter.

"It, it, it..."

A breath.

"It's bad," he said. "It can get really bad..."

More laughter. Arthur squeezed his eyes.

Sophie watched him. In the playground, her daughter squealed and ran around the swings. Carefully, Sophie dropped a shy palm onto his arm.

"It's fine," Sophie said. "I already guessed as much."

"R-really?" he said. His eyes flicked upward, searching hers.

Sophie smiled. She rubbed the top of his arm.

xXx

.

He kept laughing the first time they tried having sex.

The curtains were drawn, and the room was dark except for the thin trickle of moonlight leaking around the corners.

"I'm not - I've never - I'm not..."

"It's okay," Sophie said, and he erupted into shrieking laughter. She touched his jaw.

A laugh. "It probably won't be good."

"It's okay," Sophie said. She dropped her hands on his chest. "We'll practice."

"I'm...I'm..." he wheezed, laughing. "I'm small."

More laughter. His face twisted, the laughter ripping out from inside him.

"I'm like a roll of rusty quarters. I'm like a hairy acorn."

"It's fine," Sophie said. She kissed his cheek and whispered.

"It'll be easier to fit you in my mouth."

Laughter. It bloomed outward, catching him off-guard and making him throw his hands over his mouth, agonized. Gently Sophie stepped forward, prying his hands away from his face.

He stopped laughing when she kissed him, his eyes falling closed as he took in a soft breath, shuddering slightly as she fanned her thumb gently across his cheek.

He fumbled. He was an awkward tangle of arms and legs, and when he finally pushed inside her, he came quickly, a few quick pumps and he was twitching pathetically.

"S-sorry..." he grimaced and laughed, his eyes pained and embarrassed. She fluffed his hair, fondly.

"It's okay," she said. She smiled. "You can lick my nipples while I touch myself. It'll help me come."

"O-okay." They rearranged themselves on the bed, Sophie on her back while Arthur leaned over her.

She felt him close his mouth over her breast, and she sighed softly, slipping her hand between her legs. He kissed one breast shyly, then licked her nipple with the tip of his tongue.

"That feels nice," she said, and she guided his hand between her legs, showing him how to touch her.

"I think I'm hard again," he said, after she came and jerked a little, her body contracting against his hand. She let him penetrate her again, and he gasped and started thrusting, stuttering a little before suddenly coming.

"Sorry," he gasped, and he sagged on top of her, his penis twitching. She felt him pulse inside her as she stroked his head.

"Don't be." She gently kissed him on the cheek. "It felt nice."

She couldn't see his face, but she could tell he was beaming. She rested her arm across his back.

"Hey," she said, and she shifted. "Where did you come up with something like 'hairy acorn,' anyway?"

"It's in my joke book," he said, and she felt him pulse again. Sophie laughed into his neck, shaking her head.

xXx

.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

The sheets rustled as he turned to look at her. She gently stroked his head.

"Why does your mom call you 'Happy'?" she asked.

"Because," Arthur said, and he beamed up at her.

Sophie smirked. "Because, why?"

"Because she said my purpose was to bring joy and laughter in this world, to make everybody happy."

"I see," she said, and she settled him against her chest, letting her fingers trace the hollows of his collarbone.

xXx

.

The cut on his face was healing. Sophie frowned, gently daubing the cut with iodine before covering it with a band-aid.

They were docking his pay for the missing sign, his boss telling him he didn't give a shit what happened, he lost the fucking sign, his clients were furious. "Fucking asshole," Sophie said, and Arthur laughed softly, a real laugh this time, not the tortured fake ones that burbled from his throat. She brushed his hair from his eyes and studied her handiwork, nodding in approval.

"There's an open mic tonight," Arthur said. He buttoned up his shirt, smiling shyly. "Do you want to come?"

"I can't, I have to watch Gigi," Sophie said. Arthur didn't look at her.

"She can stay with my mom."

Sophie pursed her lips, frowning.

"You know I love you," Sophie said. "But I don't trust your mother."

"My mom is fine. She raised me," Arthur said. Sophie took his hand, lacing her fingers around his.

"She doesn't even know how to use a microwave, Arthur. What if something happens? I can't trust her to use the phone."

He grimaced, then started laughing. Sophie wrapped her arms around him.

"She's old," Sophie said. "Half the time she doesn't get out of bed. I like her, you know that. It's nothing personal."

"I understand." Arthur nodded, quickly. A laugh. And then,

"I just wish you could be there."

She stepped close to him, then plucked a piece of lint from his shirt.

"You'll be fine," Sophie said. She smiled at him. "You'll do great, I know it."

She watched him search her eyes, then smile at her, shyly. "You really think so?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. His smile broadened.

"Do you like my new suit?" he asked. He lifted his arms and twirled slowly, showing her. "It's just like the one that other comic had."

Sophie grinned, then pressed her hand onto his chest. "It looks good," she said. He ducked his head, then reached for his joke book.

xXx

.

Everything went to hell.

Sophie woke up to a loud banging on the door and the sound of tortured laughter screeching down the hall.

"Arthur?" Sophie pulled on a bathrobe and opened the door.

He was crying. Laughing and crying, greasy tears rolling down his cheeks.

"My mother," Arthur started, and he dissolved into laughter again. Sophie shushed him and led him to the couch, where he pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the sound.

"Arthur, what? What happened? What's wrong?"

"My show bombed." A laugh. A wailing, wayward sound. "I came home and my mom...she wrote a letter..."

"To Thomas Wayne?" Sophie said. His mom had been writing Thomas Wayne every day for months.

"R-r-read it." He laughed harder, choking on sobs while tears smeared down his cheeks. His hand was shaking when he handed her the letter.

Sophie took it from him, unfolding the crumpled page. Her eyes widened.

_Please help me. Please help our son._

xXx

.

She got the story in fits and starts.

The show had bombed, and the most his mother could muster was to ask him if he checked the mail, if she had any letters. "I wrote another letter," she said, and Arthur had seen the envelope sitting neatly on the table.

They got into a fight. She locked herself in the bedroom while Arthur raged and cried and laughed, until he finally got a hold of himself, begging her to talk to him, he wasn't mad.

"Fuck," Sophie said. They were lying in bed, Arthur's head on Sophie's chest, while she held him protectively. He was still sniffing softly, the events of the day still fresh in his mind, and she stroked his hair gently, letting the tips of her fingers brush tenderly across his scalp. She could feel his body relaxing against hers, the roiling tension of the day dissipating into a faint lull.

"I want to talk to him," Arthur said.

"How?" Sophie said. "He's a billionaire. How are you even gonna get close to him?"

"I'll go to his house. Knock on the front door."

"Don't do anything crazy," Sophie said, and Arthur lifted his head.

"It's too bad I'm already crazy," he said.

His eyes were wet. He gave her a wan smile.

xXx

.

He liked to dance when no one was looking. Sophie caught him once. Standing at the door to the bathroom, she watched as he swayed in front of the mirror, shirtless with his pants hanging low on his hips.

"My mom and I liked watching Fred Astaire," he said, by way of explanation, and as they got closer she'd notice how he'd quietly soft-shoe toward the kitchen, or curl his arms outward like a ballet dancer.

"Mom, come dance with me," he'd say, and Sophie would smile fondly as Arthur would pull his mother into a waltz, copying the movements on the TV.

It had been the two of them as long as Arthur could remember. Maybe it was another reason why Sophie was drawn to him - it was just her and her daughter, Gigi's father wasn't at all in the picture.

"You're a good son," Sophie said, and Arthur turned to look at her, surprised. He smiled.

"Where is that coming from?"

"Nowhere," Sophie said. She smiled.

xXx

.

Thomas Wayne was not his father.

He punched Arthur in the face, and Arthur dragged himself back to her apartment, laughing and crying. Sophie watched, worrying over the cut on his lip and the swollen bruise blooming over his eye. Arthur drooped in front of her, pressing his forehead against hers while he laughed mirthlessly.

She took a personal day off work, then went with him to Arkham Asylum. His mother's case file was there, and while the desk clerk pulled out the folders, Sophie stepped close and squeezed Arthur's hand.

xXx

.

His mother died on a Thursday.

Sophie rushed to the hospital, her daughter in tow as she met Arthur in his mother's room. He was laughing and crying, the doctors disturbed and worried, unable to get anything coherent from him.

"He has a condition," Sophie said, and she stepped forward.

Behind her, Arthur was like a clump of mud, hunched over on the chair by the bed. Her daughter stepped in front of him.

"Are you sad?" her daughter asked. Arthur sniffed and nodded.

"Yeah, sweetie. I'm sad."

Her daughter hugged him. Sophie pursed her lips, then talked to the doctors.

The TV was on, and in the background Sophie could just make out the sound of the Murray Show blaring behind him.

Sophie's eyes widened.

_No. Fuck, no. Are you serious...?_

Arthur began laughing harder.

xXx

.

"My life is a fucking tragedy," Arthur said, and he laughed, mirthlessly.

It was surreal, Sophie standing agape in the hospital room, watching as the doctors pressed Arthur for a decision regarding life support, while at the same time the fucking clip of Arthur bombing spectacularly on stage was playing on the TV.

"Fuck," Arthur moaned, and he clutched his head. "Fuck, _fuck_."

Sophie rubbed his back. He started laughing harder.

She couldn't fathom it. In the span of a week, he got beat up and found out he was adopted. Found out he was abused and abandoned by his mother.

And now she was dead, and he couldn't talk to her about it. And he no longer had a therapist or any of his meds.

"Sophie," Arthur said. His voice was hoarse. Broken. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"What do you mean?" Sophie said. Arthur shook.

"What if I just took that gun and ended it," Arthur said, softly.

Sophie started, "Arthur-"

"All my life, I felt like I didn't exist. And come to find out, I was abandoned. Nobody wanted me."

He sniffed, and stared up at the ceiling, his face twisting, laughing brokenly.

"My mother is dead," he said. "I want to be dead, too."

"Please don't say that," Sophie said, and Arthur shook his head.

"It hurts too much," Arthur said. He started laughing. "I can't do this anymore..."

"Arthur." Sophie gripped his hands.

"I'm worried about you," Sophie said. She squeezed his hands tighter. "I think you need to see a doctor."

Arthur laughed like a rusty shutter.

She hugged him. Kissed his eyes and pressed her forehead against his.

"Please, Arthur. Let me take you to the doctor."

xXx

.

He was considered a danger to himself. Sophie's throat was tight as she watched Arthur shuffling slowly down the hall.

xXx

.

The Family Room in Arkham Asylum was surprisingly bright, the clean white walls catching patches of sunlight.

Sophie took her daughter to visit him. There were other patients in the family room, all of them speaking softly and sitting beneath the bright glass windows. Outside, Sophie could see blue skies and the red trees rustling against them, bright slashes of sun back-lighting the leaves.

"I missed you," Arthur said, and Sophie hugged him. The doctors were still nailing down the right cocktail of medications, but at the very least, he wasn't actively suicidal.

"Hey, you wanna know something funny?" Sophie said. Arthur looked up at her.

"What?" he asked, and Sophie grinned.

"That prick Murray's booker called. They wanted to bring you on the show."

"What an asshole," Arthur said, and Sophie nodded.

"I know!"


End file.
